Leezer

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My Mom’s high school principal’s name was Harry Dick.  Or Harry Balls, I can’t recall, but she reminds of this fact once a year or so.   Her point, aside from the obvious entertainment-value in the name itself, is of the importance in bringing a child into this world with a name that does its owner justice. 

We named our first daughter Georgia for a couple of reasons; first, my husband and I love the Ray Charles song, Georgia On My Mind.   The song is soulful and a bit mysterious - you don’t know if Georgia is a person or a place.  It doesn’t really matter.  Hearing the song always made me wish my name was Georgia. 

 Second, my husband  is from Virginia, and we sure as hell weren’t going to name our child Virginia.  (I once related this rationale to a stranger at a dinner party, only later to lean over with an outstretched hand, “by the way, my name is Lisa.  What’s your name?”  Her response: “Virginia.”)  Giving our precious girl the name Virginia would undoubtedly require us to console her on a regular basis when other children realized how much Virginia sounds like vagina. 

Georgia - the name and my daughter -  reminds me of a Weeping Willow -  lacy, feminine, strong, steamy, and ageless.  Somehow I knew this about her before she was born.  That, or I’ve projected onto her those traits I value.  I think it was also the only name upon which we agreed.

I’ve longed to name a daughter India, which was a common name in Victorian England.  Perhaps because England occupied India.   Upon further reflection, a British person naming a child India may be considered tasteless, like naming a child Appartheid, Harper’s Ferry, or The Killing Fields.  Some good things likely came out of the British occupation of India, but placing my child in the position of needing to justify her name seemed a tad unfair.   Our baby sitter’s name is Enola.  A few days ago my husband asked her,

 ” . . . like the WWII Enola Gay?  The one that carried the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima?” 

I was afraid he’d ask.  During this questioning I implored him with my eyes, She’s only fifteen!  She didn’t give herself the name!  Leave it alone!

Nonetheless, India, like Goergia, is a strong, steamy, yet ageless name.  

When we adopted Anna from China, the name India didn’t make the short list because the last thing we wanted to do to our child who doesn’t look a thing like us was to saddle her with an oddball name.  So we picked about the least ethnic-sounding name we could think of:  Anna.  It was the perfect choice.  She loves her name and refers to herself in the third person:  “Anna wants wa-wa; Anna go nigh-nigh; Anna go poopy!” 

Expat Princess believes - and I whole heartedly agree - that a name should look impressive when printed upon a college or law school diploma.  I question whether the Shittheads, the Shanias,  and the Fantasias really want their names printed Harvard Diplomas.  But perhaps the names won’t be printed anywhere at all, or will be printed upon state liquor control-board operators’ licenses.  Not that there’s any shame in that.  Don’t send me hate-mail telling me how bougoise I am.  I just think a child should be given as much of a head start as possible. 

Speaking of names that do their owners justice, I know a woman who named her son Justice, but I believe she spells it differently.  What a wonderful name, Justice.  Unless the child becomes an adult-film star.  In that case Harry Dick is more appropriate.

[Scene: 7:30 a.m. Georgia and I standing in driveway while we say goodbye to Elliott and Anna, who are getting into the car]:

 Georgia:  Mom, look at you! You’ve got one sock on, leggings where one leg is pulled above the knee, the other below the knee, and a stained t-shirt that says, “ask me about my explosive diarrhea!  What if someone sees you?

Me:  Well that wouldn’t be so good, would it?

Cris tagged me on this little game, and I’m herein obliging.  The rules are as follows:  

1. Write your own six-word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
4. Tag five more blogs with links.
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

I think Steven Colbert already said this was his motto, but I hereby steal it as my own.  six-word memoir.  It is, Well, I thought it was funny.

Now, send me yours.  There will be no judgment or violent rebuttal. Only smirking.

I tag:

Jacob

Tim

Margaret

Mae

Naynay

Here is a picture of wee little Hero.  He is half King Charles Cavalier Spaniel and half Bichon Frise.  He is therefore a Cavachon.  He will look a little like this when he grows up (this is an adult Cavachon whos picture was on a breeder’s site):

Hero is expected to weigh from 14 - 18 pounds when he’s an adult.  As you know, Ernie (Wang Chung) weighs in at an impressive 17.5 pounds.  We call him the Giant Fighting Shih Tzu.  I think Ernie and Hero will be best friends.  Here’s Ernie.  Doesn’t he look a bit like Hero?

And just so I’m not being partial, I’ve taken a number of pictures of my cat in various boxes.  If there’s a  box, she’ll step inside of it within about thirty seconds.  I’ve done scientific expiraments on the subject.  Here’s Holly in on the dryer in a dog food box:  

Here’s Holly in Anna’s crib (O.K., doesn’t technically count as a box, but it’s got the spirit and feel of a box):

Here’s Holly on Anna’s bookshelf inside a toy box:

1.  In college I lived next door to a guy who took a dump on his couch in the middle of the night because he thought it was a  toilet.  We called him Paul the Dirtball.

2.  Today when I filled my gas tank it topped off at $69.00 even.

3.  I have a dinosaur tooth.  Not in my mouth, my grandmother gave it to me.  For some reason, my Mom and Dad now have it.

4.  I’ve never seen a ghost.

5.  I never liked Gymboree or Mommy and Me classes.

6.  I can’t get enough Red Velvet cake.

7.  I’ve had workouts that hurt more than childbirth.

8.  I  once walked out of the middle of a dental cleaning because the dentist took too long to get to me (the hygienist cleaned my teeth).

9.  I still have my Raggedy Ann doll from when I was a baby.

10.  I kiss my oldest daughter’s forehead about once an hour.  She’s likely very tired of it.

11.  Once when I took my daughter swimming I forgot my bathing suit.  Because there wasn’t enough time to go home and get it, I just wore one from the lost and found.

12.  Sometimes I’m jealous of people who have gotten pregnant whenever they wanted to.

13.  I love the smell of puppy ears.

14.  If I could either sing or dance, I’d dance.

15.  I don’t like the name Midge.

16.  I had a crush on Roy Scheider when Jaws came out.

17.  Last week I wore the same outfit to work two days in a row.

18. If you take a close look at famous people, you’ll notice that their heads are always too big for their bodies.

19.  If I could either bungee jump or feed sharks through a shark cage, I’d pick the shark cage.

20.  I wonder what ever happened to Russ Davis (Mariners’ third baseman).

21.  I’m glad I don’t have close-set eyes because there’s really nothing you can do about that.

22.  I vacillate between feelings of entitlement and martyrdom - a dangerous combination.

23.  I wish my dog could talk. 

24.   I can’t understand why anyone would ever take their parents for granted.

25.  I still keep in touch with some of my best friends from childhood.

26.  I don’t see my adopted daughter as Chinese anymore.  I just see her soul.

27.  I love all my cousins so, so much.

28.  I HATE Rhodedendrons  (the Washington State Flower).

29.  I want a koi pond but my parents had one and it was a pain in the ass to keep clean and maintained.  Plus, I think the raccoons ate the fish.

30.  I have blond hair but I don’t feel blond.  If my looks matched the way I felt, I’d look like Snow White.

31.  Blood Sweat and Tears and Tower of Power were awesome bands because of the horns.

32.  Two days ago I slammed my finger in the car door and blood squirted all over my clothes and all over the ground.  There was so much blood I couldn’t tell if my finger was dangling off the bone until I washed it. 

33.  I am going to be cremated.

34.  My husband’s birthday is Tuesday.  I think I’ll get him a pair of gym socks and a bottle opener.

35.  I’m addicted to American Idol for the first time this season.

36.  If my cat could talk, she’d alternate between ridicule and praise.

37.  My maiden name is Catt.

38.  Sometimes I worry that the U.S. won’t last as long as the Roman Empire did.

39.  I hate card games.

40.  Favorite body part?  Eyebrows.

41.  Pie or cake?  Pie.

42.  Death penalty or life in prison?  Death penalty.

43.  Horseshoes or Frisbee?  Horseshoes.

]

• Paper toilet seat covers.  You put one on the toilet seat, the middle part falls in the water, gets heavy, and pulls the whole thing into the water.  Then you think, “Well, I’ll tear the center out altogether.”  Doesn’t work.  The whole ring tears in half. So then you get another one.  It does the same thing!  Finally, you just take some toilet paper and line the seat with that.  It falls off too.  I’ve resolved to just take disinfectant cloths wherever I go.

• Three-quarter sleeves.  These types of sleeves serve only to accentuate the primate-quality of my arms.  Sleeves should be long or short.  One or the other.  And don’t even get me started on cropped pants WITH a three-quarter sleeve shirt.  Basically the wearer of the outfit looks like a child who has overgrown his britches.

• The five star spiciness rating system in Thai restaurants.  These are useless.  Every time my husband and I go to a Thai restaurant, we do the same expirament:  He orders three or four stars and I order one star.  The food always tastes identical.

• Tylenol.  I understand giving Tylenol to a kid (Ryes Syndrome) but for an adult, its about as effective as a piece of liccorice.

• Antennae on cell phones.  Does anyone use these things? Are they just there for show?  Cell phone coverage is coverage is coverage.  The four-inch plastic stick doesn’t help with dropped calls coverage gaps.

• Deoderant tampons. If you need a deoderant tampon, then you should see a doctor.

• Cliff Notes, law school study guides and other academic short-cuts.  When I was in law school, the hulabaloo during the first few months of school as a 1L was which study outline/guide  to buy.  Most, if not all, of us bought a bunch of these in the first year, and by the end of school virtually no one was using them.  Why?  Because there are no short-cuts.  Shortcuts are exactly that - doing something fast and sloppy.  Kind of like the way my husband skiis - really fast, but without proper form because he doesn’t Stem Christy (plant his pole properly).   While certainly dry reading, the law school texts contained every thing we needed to know.  All else was trifles.

• Waterproof Bandaids.  These are bandaids that are clear where the brown strip is supposed to be.  Utterly, completely, infuriatingly useless.  I am always cutting my fingers nearly to the bone whilst cooking because, despite my comments above, I tend to chop quickly and sloppily.  I’ve endured too many showers rinsing the suds out of my hair and recoiling in agony as my long wet hairs pull through the inside of a deep cut.  So I tried the waterproof bandaids. (I’d just as soon wear a soggy pair of underpants than a soggy band-aid).  The water-proof kind are merely a sales gimmick.  My shower drain inevitably becomes a sad graveyard for these clear-plastic soldiers.